Lift Your Petals to the Sun and Bloom
by irmaida
Summary: "She doesn't remember much of the 74th Hunger Games, except for the fact that Rue doesn't come home with a fancy parade, with food and smiles and hugs and kisses. She comes home in a white box instead." Life goes on for Rue's sisters after Rue dies. Or not. Written for Starvation's August 2012 prompt: Lullaby.


_Lift Your Petals to the Sun and Bloom_

\

Two weeks after her oldest sister Rue turns twelve, their father is executed for stealing.

She feels surreal and hollow and scared and angry. Surreal because this _cannot be happening_. Hollow because she's cried so much. Scared because she doesn't know what to do without their father. And angry at their father for stealing, when he knows the punishment is death, when he knows what is at stake.

And she and Gyp and Orchid and Violet and Poppy all cry themselves hollow, in one big circle hug, feeling small and helpless, completely convinced they are all going to be dead by the next Reaping rolls around.

Not Rue.

Rue puts her arms around them, no tears on her face, and says, "Be strong."

"W-we're going to die!" Orchid blubbers. "W-we can't f-feed ourselves! Mother's u-useless and w-we can't do anything without F-father!"

"No, we're not," Rue says. And, immediately, all five of them stop crying for a second and look up into their oldest sister's tear-free eyes. "We're not going to die. I'm not going to allow it."

Rue is barely ten months older than her, but at that moment, she feels like Rue has aged ten years. She doesn't realize the significance of this. (Yet.) She just cries some more and says, angrily, "He shouldn't have stolen! S-so stupid! He knew wh-what could happen!"

And Rue just quietly and thoughtfully says, "No, Mira. I think it was very brave of him, to steal for us rather than just run away. You know that happened to the Olsen children just a few weeks ago? Their father left them. Our father was a good man. And he had no choice, not with the six of us, and Mother being the way she is."

"B-but now we'll die!" Violet wails.

"No, we won't."

And when Rue says it, everything just sounds so _right _and _perfect_. They aren't going to die. Not with Rue around.

\

That night, Rue tucks all of them into bed, even Mother, because she seems even more far-away than usual.

"Sing, Rue, sing," says Poppy, the youngest one. She loves music.

So Rue smiles wide and sings, notes high and clear. It is an old, familiar lullaby all of them love, especially when it comes out of Rue's mouth. No one can sing the way Rue can, with her angel voice.

"_Come back, come back to me_

_Come home, come home to me_

_Wherever you are, I'm waiting, so listen_

_And come home, come home to me"_

\

She's glad Rue is there, because without her, they'd all be lost.

Without Rue, she would be the oldest sister. And she wouldn't know how to be the oldest sister. Not the way Rue knew.

Rue, who's not only the oldest sister—she's their best friend, their father, and a God-sent angel, all in one. She shares her food rations with them, and she works hard in the fields to get them food on the table. She takes care of Mother, she does odd jobs, and she signs up for tesserae without blinking an eye. She's always there to give them advice and be someone to talk to. And every night, she sings them to sleep.

She _loves _them.

And they all love her back.

\

The night before the Reaping, Mira hears Rue crying.

She's never heard or seen Rue cry, so it seems impossible, but it can only be her. The rest of them are sound asleep, and she can see Rue's body quivering with sobs in the faint moonlight. And she suddenly realizes that her sister is only twelve, not twenty-two.

But she's sleepy and drowsy, so she falls asleep a few seconds later and thinks little of it.

In the morning, she won't even remember.

(But several months later, she will. And she'll realize just how young her sister was when the Capitol took her away to die.

Rebellion.)

\

Her sister has been Reaped.

It's that whole surreal-hollow-scared-angry feeling all over again, except so much more magnified.

She doesn't remember much of the 74th Hunger Games, except for the fact that Rue doesn't come home with a fancy parade, with food and smiles and hugs and kisses.

She comes home in a white box instead.

\

When the white box comes, carrying the remains of her older sister, she does not cry.

She wants to cry. But then she sees Poppy and Orchid and Violet and Gyp crying, and she knows she can't. She has to be strong. For them.

Because that was what Rue would've done.

\

She is not Rue, she is Mira, but she tries to forget this.

She must become Rue now, for her younger sisters.

So like Rue would've done, she does odd jobs. She takes care of her younger sisters. She shares rations. She comforts her sisters when they cry, which is often. She tucks them into bed. She works hard in the fields every day to get them food, and when she comes home late at night, she takes care of their mother and makes them dinner. When she turns twelve, she'll sign up for tesserae to get them even more food. She'll do anything to keep her younger sisters and mother alive.

But she hates it, hates her sisters, hates her life, hates the jobs and hard work and her family. She does everything because she knows she has to, not because she wants to, and she hates every minute of it. She wants someone to talk to, she wants to _cry_, she wants to be weak for maybe just one second. But instead she has to be strong and comforting and solid, because she needs to be Rue. She needs to be Rue for them.

This is what she tells herself every night as she quietly cries herself to sleep, after her younger sisters have all fallen asleep.

She vaguely wonders if Rue had done the same thing after their father died. But she doubts it, because Rue had always been so much stronger. Not half-baked and hateful, like Mira, but full and loving and genuine.

She could tell, every night, just by listening to Rue's angel voice.

\

So she goes on like this, being Rue, and hating every second of it. But she sees progress. Her sisters are crying less often, and there is food on the table more often now. If she were Rue, this would give her a satisfied glow and an urge to work even harder, so she pretends that this is the feeling she gets when she notices their progress. Outwardly, she smiles and ruffles hair and promises to work harder. Inwardly, she cries some more.

Then one day her youngest sister, little Poppy, gives her a request she cannot fulfill.

"Sing, Mira, sing," she says, as she had often asked Rue.

And this is what sends her over the edge.

She flies out of the room, trying to cover her tears, and she runs and runs and runs until she cannot run anymore. But she's still crying, and she cries every tear that she's wanted to shed ever since the white box came home, and she cries until she feels hollow inside. Then she sits there, rocking herself back and forth, even though she knows she should be working in one of her many odd jobs by now.

She can't do this anymore.

She is not Rue, the one her sisters loved and depended on, the one that could sing a hundred-eyed giant to sleep, the brave one, the angelic one. She's eleven-year-old Mira, the one that cries at the sight of dead animals, the one that whines when they don't have enough food, the one that's afraid of the dark, the one that loved and depended on Rue the most.

And she can't do it anymore.

"Are you okay, honey?" asks a voice.

She looks up and notices where she is. Victor's Village. And standing near her, looking down upon her, is Seeder.

The name strikes a chord in her brain, and suddenly all the hatred she's been harboring comes flying out. She jumps up and rushes towards Seeder, punching her and hitting her and screaming. "You were her mentor! You were supposed to keep her safe! You were supposed to bring her back alive! It's-it's _all_ _your_ _fault_!"

And Seeder doesn't even get mad, she just stands there and takes the blows, whispering, "I know, honey. I know."

When she's done screaming, she starts to cry again, and Seeder just holds her in her arms until she stops, singing an age-old lullaby.

It's the lullaby Rue used to sing, and it just makes her cry harder. Seeder can't sing the way Rue can, but if she closes her eyes, she can pretend that Rue is still alive and everything is still okay.

She cries harder.

\

She must've fallen asleep, because when she opens her eyes, she's in front of her house. Seeder is talking to Gyp, who's nine-years-old and the second oldest now.

"I found her in Victor's Village. I thought I'd better return her," Seeder is saying. Mira's glad that she doesn't mention the crying and the punching, because she's a bit ashamed.

Orchid, who's standing behind Gyp, sees Mira open her eyes and points. "Look, she's awake!"

And Seeder sets her down and soon, all her sisters are crowding around her, hugging her and kissing her. "Are you okay, Mira? Are you okay?"

She needs to be Rue again and tell them that she's fine and then fuss over them. But then she remembers she's not Rue, she's Mira. So she tells them the truth.

"No," she whispers. "I-I'm not." Her voice cracks.

And her sisters don't even perceive her as weak, they just give her more hugs. "Oh, Mira," they say. "We didn't know."

"I miss her," she tells them, and they don't need to ask who, they all know. And suddenly, they're all crying, and Mira realizes how much she's missed this. She's missed being Mira, she's missed crying and hugging her sisters and being together with her sisters, in one big circle hug.

"I wanted to be like Rue," she tells them. "I-I thought that was what you needed."

They cry some more, they hug and squeeze harder, and Gyp says, "We needed Rue. But we shouldn't have let you be Rue by yourself. Besides, we're not _we _without you."

And that's when she understands, they _all _understand, that none of them are Rue, who could carry the burden all by herself. They're Mira and Gyp and Violet and Orchid and Poppy, just five weaker sisters who need each other to carry the burden.

Then Poppy pulls on her sleeve and says, "Sing, Mira, sing."

And this time she does, they all do, together. They don't sound like beautiful Rue, with her angel voice; they just sound like five off-key sisters. But that's who they are, and that's what makes it perfect.

And Mira_ really_ smiles, for the first time since the white coffin came, as she sings the lyrics to the age-old lullaby.

_I'll come back, come back to you_

_I'll come home, come home to you_

_Wherever you are, wait for me, and listen_

_We're coming home, coming home to you_

* * *

A/N: In case you're wondering where that lullaby comes from, I made it up.

*four note whistle*, Rue.

R&R please?


End file.
